


Desire

by AGlassRoseNeverFades



Series: Our Sins [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Apparently It's a Thing Now Cuz It Seems to Be a Running Theme Here, Fantasizing, Improper Use of Undershirts, Let's Just Say Will's Not the Only One With a Fantastic Vivid Imagination, M/M, Masturbation, Shameless Smut, Teasing, is that a thing?, well kind of, workouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGlassRoseNeverFades/pseuds/AGlassRoseNeverFades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew likes to think about Will at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desire

He still works out for maybe half an hour to an hour every few mornings, mainly stretches and push-ups or sit-ups, and always on laundry days so he doesn’t have to change back into the same sweaty clothes after his shower.

He hadn’t been sure if he was going to during that first week, self-conscious now that he had an audience directly across from him, but Matthew never seemed to pay him any mind during his workouts, possibly sensing that it would make Will uncomfortable. In fact, he decided to follow Will’s example and started exercising as well at the same time, taking a potentially awkward situation and making it slightly less weird for the empath. Will is a little surprised at how much gratitude he feels about that even now.

Not that it had been _entirely_ devoid of awkwardness the first time, he recalls. Whereas Will prefers to stay mostly covered and only shrugs out of his jumpsuit for the occasion, Matthew is apparently more comfortable stripping down to nothing but his underwear for both exercise and sleep.

The first time he does it, Will pauses in his stretching, mostly out of confusion as he wonders what Matt is doing, then out of curiosity as the shirt lifts and reveals what it was hiding underneath. The man cuts an impressive figure under all the layers, all hard lean muscle and chiseled torso, but it’s the intricate tattoos in stark black ink on his sides that catch Will’s attention.

His eyes follow the strange patterns, trying to discern their meaning as he wonders about this man he’s slowly coming to know, wonders what other discoveries lay hidden in the skin of the mild-mannered orderly Matthew had every appearance of being up to the moment he slipped a noose around Hannibal Lecter’s neck and sliced his wrists open.

A loud groan followed by a yawn as Gideon rises from his cot in the next cell, and Will blinks, realizing suddenly that he’s been staring for far too long. He blushes and forces his eyes up to Matthew’s face, about to stammer some awkward apology, but there’s no sign of offense or embarrassment in the lopsided smile Matthew is sporting. He breaks into a full confident grin as Will’s eyes meet his own, then drops to the ground and launches into a set of push-ups before Will can get the words out.

The subsequent days go much smoother after that, both of them keeping their eyes to themselves as they settle into separate but simultaneous routines, the only sounds their harsh breathing and Gideon’s obnoxiously loud snores—or obnoxiously louder rants as he monologues to himself about the finer points of being fat and lazy, or on how boring it is to have to talk to himself for god knows how long while the ‘jocks’ just grunt and puff and refuse to answer him back until the breakfast cart arrives.

This particular morning is different, however. This morning, there are no snores or monologues. This morning, Gideon lies in a hospital bed, his back broken, and Will has to try very hard not to think about who put him there or how disquietingly unsafe that makes him feel personally. This morning, he throws himself entirely into his workout and pushes himself harder than ever, unmindful of the sweat making his hair stick to his forehead or dripping down his back and soaking through his shirt because, god help him, if any of the guards ever decide they think Will is due for a little ‘accident’ as well he is _not_ going down without a fight.

He’s never wanted anything in his life more than he wants to be out of here _right now._ He feels feral, ready to kick and bite and _claw_ the eyes out of the first person stupid enough to come near him or even look at him wrong. More than once he has to choke back a snarl as he moves.

After a full hour, his energy finally subsides. He sits up, sprawls his legs out, and slumps back against the cool brick wall, panting heavily. He tugs off the damp shirt to wipe off his face with it, and tries to use it like a towel to rub haphazardly at his hair as well, which only really succeeds in making it look as wild and chaotic as he feels inside.

When his breath finally evens out to something like normal and the cold wall seeps calm into his bones, he chances a glance over at his one remaining cell-block mate.

Matthew is already fully dressed, probably having completed his own sets awhile ago. And he is sitting Indian style as close to the bars as possible, pupils practically blown as he stares at Will like he wants to dissolve every last barrier between them so he can tear away what little is left of his clothing and crawl all over him.

Will swallows, shifting his legs up as though they can help protect his naked torso from view.

Neither of them looks away from each other for a very long time.

*

Matthew adds it to the list of memories he likes to go back to when he’s lying awake at night. He has quite a collection of them now, most of them nothing anyone else would consider worth writing home about. Until now, the steamiest ones he had included glimpses of Will’s wet naked back in the shower before he had politely and professionally averted his eyes like any good orderly would.

Even tamer by comparison is the one of Will sitting up in bed, after that one night early on with the bad nightmare, looking around confusedly for his missing shirt. He’d turned to Matthew and opened his mouth like he wanted to ask him about it, then shut it again as he thought better of it, and simply pulled the top of his jumpsuit back on over his shoulders without it.

He’d gone the next two days without a shirt until they issued him a new one on laundry day. Even now Matthew relishes those memories—something about that bare patch of skin under the V-neck, the barely widening gap that allowed him to see more of Will’s chest when he leaned forward, seeming more tantalizing than an unobstructed view of his full upper body would.

Though that may also have something to do with the shirt itself, still tucked away under his pillow. The smell of Will is mostly gone from it now, but he still likes to reach under the pillow when he goes to bed and curl his fingers around it possessively. Much like he’s doing now.

And now he has this morning to play on repeat in his head. _God,_ that had been _magnificent._ His patience had finally paid off as he got a glimpse at last of that _gorgeous fucking beast_ he knew lurked in there somewhere, complete with an unquenchable lust for life and a desire to do whatever was necessary to survive at all costs.

His breath hitches and without a moment’s hesitation, under the blanket, he slides his boxers down around his knees and takes himself in hand. He hasn’t done this once since he became an inmate here, but with only the sounds of Will’s breathing and his own in the darkness, he’s beyond all caring at this point.

He paces himself at first, pumping leisurely as he thinks about the wildness in Will’s eyes and a bead of sweat dribbling slowly down the nape of his neck. It isn’t hard to picture it as a different sort of abandon, transmute it into a look of fierce joy as Will hovers over him and grinds down, rubbing their cocks together with a low growl in his throat.

Matthew bites back a groan and pumps faster. The look Will gives him turns more playful and coy at his obvious eagerness, deliberately slowing to a more teasing pace.

Matthew nearly growls in frustration, even though in reality his pace quickens, drops of precum making it easier to slide his hand over himself faster and faster. And here it becomes obvious that even in his fantasies, it’s the real Will he wants, for when he imagines himself digging his nails into Will’s hips and tugging him up so Matthew’s cock lies between his cheeks, slicking his crevice with more sweat and precum, Will’s coy smile falters into something more nervous and uncertain, though still unspeakably aroused.

Will’s face flushes and his pupils darken. He makes little helpless, breathless noises as he slides his ass over Matt’s dick, until finally he can take it no more and impatiently he lifts himself up, repositions slightly, and lowers himself down onto it, wincing as his unprepared hole is filled but powering through the pain.

Matt tightens his grip on his cock as he imagines Will riding him, his movements becoming more erratic and frenzied as he slides himself up and down over and over again, his hand gripping his own cock now, his breath coming out in a hiss and eyes rolling back as the head of Matthew’s cock hits that spot inside of him that makes him see stars.

He’s so close he can taste it. He thrusts into his hand a few more times, imagining it’s Will he’s thrusting into, until with a sharp cry imaginary Will stiffens and spurts all over his chest and stomach. Only then is Matt able to reach his own, very real orgasm.

He comes with Will’s whispered name on his lips and slumps bonelessly into the mattress, sticky, sweaty, sated, and exhausted. With what little presence of mind he has left, he grabs his own discarded shirt to wipe up the mess and drops it carelessly to the floor. He falls asleep within minutes.

In the opposite cell in his own cot, Will lies on his side facing the wall, very much awake, eyes wide and pupils blown, one hand gripped tightly over his mouth to keep any sounds from escaping. His other hand is clenched tightly in his pillow, going numb and losing circulation because he refuses to move it out from under his head, afraid because he knows exactly where it will drift down to if he allows it.

He is so painfully hard, he’s practically shaking with need, but he refuses to give in to it. He won’t allow himself to get off to the memory of Matthew getting off _to him._

The memory of those sounds, the tell-tale slide of flesh against flesh and the soft noises Matthew couldn’t help making, stay with him for the rest of the night as he lies awake. The only time he allows his eyes to squeeze shut for a moment is when he hears again, with perfect clarity, the reverent and adoring _“Will,”_ that passed Matthew’s lips as he came.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first go at writing smut. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. _*fans self*_
> 
> A/N: Is it obvious that Gideon is one of my favorite minor characters? I just can't get enough of the snarky bastard, but alas, as on the show, his time in this series is coming to an untimely end. :/


End file.
